


445. petrichor

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [62]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It rains on the drive away from the prison camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	445. petrichor

They drive from the prison camp through part of the day and part of the night – they have to watch the sunset from the Jeep, the way the sky bleeds yellow and orange and red and red and red. There’s no radio stations this far out here – Helena looks – and the one CD in the player is a man screaming about things Helena doesn’t like anymore. So she breaks it in two and throws it out the window.

But that means it’s quiet. So quiet.

The desert night is cold. Helena didn’t know. She wants to ask Sarah if Sarah knew, but she doesn’t know what answer Sarah would give that would fill up this silence. _Yes._ Or: _No_. Her foot unmoving on the gas pedal. The needle wavering lower, lower, lower.

“Sarah,” Helena says finally, “it’s going to rain.”

Sarah jumps a little bit; Helena doesn’t blame her. It’s been a long night. Sarah had talked about Paul for a minute or two and then had trailed off into a silence that’s lasted hours. Helena wonders if Sarah has been thinking about Paul this entire drive. It is a difficult thing, carrying your dead.

“It’s the desert,” Sarah says, voice dry like – well.

“Yes,” Helena says. “But.”

She leans forward, points to the angry growl of stormclouds on the horizon. “See?” she says. “There. Rain. You can smell it.”

“Shite,” Sarah says, as the gas-needle dips down further. Helena can see lights in the distance, but they’re a long way away. The night sky is so dark; it aches with stars, endless, little sky-scars. Except for the parts of sky that are covered by clouds, more and more and more.

“The plants will grow,” Helena says quietly.

“I don’t care about the bloody _plants_ , do I?” Sarah spits. “I just want to go _home_.” Her voice breaks. Helena has never had a home before, so she’s never thought that: _I want to go home_. She can’t imagine how much it must ache, to have somewhere that you long to be.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” Helena says, leaning over and putting her hand tentatively on Sarah’s arm. “We’ll get home. We’ll—”

Before she can finish the sentence, thunder booms and rain starts pouring down. It’s endless; Helena can’t see out the windshield anymore, and Sarah has to slam on the brakes of the car. The rain clatters on the windshield and on the windows and this Jeep is small and how did Helena forget this Jeep is small, cage-small, box-small, cell-small, too small. She curls up as the rain clatters louder and it’s just _rain_ , the smell of it heavy in the air, but it’s been such a long few weeks and. And.

Helena hears an inhalation of breath from Sarah and waits for _shite_ or _bloody_ or _hell_ but instead Sarah just screams. It’s a long, raw scream; it sounds the way Helena feels, endless and angry. Sarah jerks the key to the Jeep and it turns off and the air is suddenly silent except for the hiss of rain and that long, frustrated scream. Sarah is pounding her hands on the steering wheel, over and over again. Helena undoes her seatbelt and shoves the Jeep’s door open and falls out the door into outside.

The rain hits her like a million hands – only kind, only cool, only without feeling. How long has it been since she’s seen water that wasn’t in a plastic bottle? How long? Weeks? Months? Years?

She spreads her arms wide and lets the rain wash off all the desert-dust and she realizes she’s making a sound too, only she thinks it’s a laugh. Only she thinks she’s laughing, and then she _is_ , and the rain is washing all the dust and dirt and blood from her, and she and Sarah are going to be okay.

Helena runs around the car and opens Sarah’s door, sees her slumped over the steering wheel, grabs her and pulls her into the rain and from there into her arms. She holds her tight, like an anchor. The rain drenches both of them and Helena holds Sarah and Sarah shakes, and shakes, and clings to Helena so tight it hurts.

“I’m here,” Helena whispers, mouth pressed to the top of Sarah’s head. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Sarah is shivering. Maybe cold. Maybe something else. Helena doesn’t let go.

“We’re gonna get _soaked_ ,” Sarah whispers, voice a thin tired thing.

“Yes,” Helena says, and she lets go.

Sarah stands there staring at her for a second, small and scared in the rain. And then she tips her head back; she closes her eyes. Helena watches as the rain cleans her, bit by bit by bit.

Sarah holds her arms out open wide. The rain falls into them, like coming home.


End file.
